A Vow to Cait Sith
by Miratete
Summary: Despite official forbiddings, a man from the present falls for someone from the past—a "Wings of the Goddess" fanfiction taking place around the campaign battles and the Battle of Bastok. NOT for the closed-minded.
1. The Visitor

A Vow to Cait Sith

Red Mountain stared at the strange creature descending the stairs toward him, a knee-high mannikin with feline features. It wore nothing but its own black and white fur, and a crown-like headpiece. It blinked at him with its large yellow-green eyes. "A child of Altana. Yes, of Altana. One of her elder children." The voice was sweet and bell-like.

She came closer, stretching out her paw toward him. "I can feel it.. There is so much love in your heart, and sympathy too. A heart full of love and sympathy."

She came right up to where he was lying and looked into his face. The tiny creature took Red Mountain's head in her delicate hands, looking right into his deep brown eyes. "A heart full of love and sympathy," she repeated. "This war will spread to consume Vana'diel in a tidal wave of tragedy. You must help me stop it."

The Crystal War. From what he had read in the history books, and from what he had seen so far, he knew the creature did not lie. "I am but one man. What can I do?"

"I hope to shrink this tidal wave of tears, if only by a little. By a few drops. Bring that love and sympathy to those of your past. Dry their tears and ease their suffering. Give them hope and encouragement" She released him and and struck an apologetic pose. "It will be difficult, thankless work though."

Red Mountain thought of all he had done for his compatriots, all the difficult, thankless work he had undertaken for them. "I will."

Cait Sith brightened. "You would be up for the task?"

Red Mountain nodded, still entranced by the strange fairy-like being. "Of course I will."

"You vow to help me with this grand plan of salvation?"

"I give you my word."

Delightedly Cait Sith danced a circle about the Galka as he rose to his feet. "Child of Altana, your heart knows few equals in generosity." She waved her hand at him. "Go now. The fate of the age rests on your shoulders. So much rests on you."

Chapter One – The Visitor

"Where did you get that?" asked Striking Bull, eyeballing the young soldier enviously. It was a damp day in Rolanberry Fields, and unusually cold for the spring.

The grenadier pointed behind the fortification and swallowed the rest of the mouthful he was chewing. In his pale hands he clasped a half-eaten pie full of stewed meat and thick gravy. Steam and an irresistible aroma wafted forth from it. "Around the back. Some guy brought a whole bunch and is handing them out." He reached into his satchel. "He gave me a popoto too," he said, displaying the parchment-packaged tuber.

Without another question Striking Bull hurried off to the place indicated, hoping that this "some guy" had brought enough for everyone, or at least enough that he had not missed out. It had been a long time since he and his men had been sent any decent rations.

He found the place quickly. A dozen or so grenadiers stood in a cluster, where another Galka was handing out hot pies and baked popotoes from a large hamper. There was much excitement in the air despite the wet weather, and for the first time in a long time he heard laughter.

As Striking Bull reached the group he saw that the man with the food was what they called a "Visitor," one of the many strange mercenaries that had suddenly begun appearing one day, just as the war had begun to look hopeless for the allied forces. They wore unusual armor and talked using strange tenses. Whispers spoke of them having come from another time. And while the governments had welcomed their services with open arms, they had forbidden interaction between the Visitors and the people. Soldiers and civilians alike were not to socialize with these mercenaries—not to ask questions, not to inquire, only to work and fight together for the common good.

So it was with some nervousness that Striking Bull stepped up and held out his hands to receive part of this sudden, tantalizing bounty. But what harm would there be in simply receiving a much wanted and needed hot meal. As the Visitor reached to put the paper-wrapped pie into Striking Bull's hands, he paused and peered at Striking Bull's face. There was something of a light of recognition in the Visitor's eyes and a flighty smile. And then he placed the heavy pie into the waiting hands and said, "I see you're the captain of this unit. I have something special for you." And then bent down and took up a smaller basket, handing it also to Striking Bull.

Striking Bull received it, studying the fellow Galka's face. He seemed familiar but could not place him. He was young, perhaps a few decades his junior, and handsome, save for a faint scar running down his forehead and crossing his cheek. "Thank you. This is very kind of you."

"You're welcome," said the Visitor warmly. "You looked like you could use a good meal."

Striking Bull nodded. "We don't get much meat in our rations."

The Visitor laughed. "You said something about stale army biscuits the other day when I was here."

"So that's where I've seen you before. Well thank you for thinking of us."

Striking Bull thanked him again and returned to his post near the Campaign Arbiter. He sat down with the basket and began to eat. On unpacking the basket he found it filled tightly with all sorts of things a soldier could use in the field. There were preserved meats and fruits, as well as bandages, soap, salt, chocolates, healing balm, a pair of socks, and a book of poetry written by the ancient Altepan poet Dolakk. Tears began to pool in his blue eyes. In all his years, no one had ever given him such a thoughtful gift. And this one had come from a stranger, a Visitor at that, who appreciated the work of the heavy infantry.

Striking Bull thought often of the stranger and hoped to see him again to thank him once more for the gift. And on a hot afternoon in the middle of a grueling battle he did. The Visitor was there in the robes of a healer, throwing spells alongside the Field Woundpatchers. Nearby, apparently with him, were a Mithra Bard and an Elvaan Dark Knight—Visitors as well. The trio fought beautifully together and did much against the onslaught of Quadav. And eventually when the battle ended, Striking Bull took the arm of the Visitor and pulled him aside. "I wanted to thank you for the basket of supplies. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever given me."

The Visitor smiled bashfully. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Hey Red! We're taking off!" called the Mithra.

"All right. I'll be right there," called back the Galka Visitor.

"Your name is Red? Kinda ironic for a White Mage."

He chuckled. "Red Mountain, at least that's what they call me."

"I'm Striking Bull, captain of the Second Division Heavy Infantry...the Second Grenadiers." He held out his hand in greeting.

Red Mountain took it, feeling the strong arm of the captain. "Red Mountain at your service."

"The way these battles have been going lately, we could use a lot more of your help. I'd like to see more of you...meaning, of you Visitors."

"I'll pass the word along."

"And thank you again. Your gift meant a lot to us here."

Red Mountain smiled his bashful smile once more and warped away.

In the days that followed, the three Visitors spent much time in Rolanberry Fields, camping not far from the fortification. They sometimes brought food for the grenadiers, hearty meals of meat and stew. Often there was a basket of popotoes or other baked vegetables to go with it. And on these occasions an additional basket of goods would appear next to the Campaign Arbiter for Striking Bull, always anonymously, but the origin was obvious.

The Trio, as they had been dubbed, would hunt Goobues and stray Quadav, but when a battle began, they were quick to appear on the battlefield to lend a hand. The Galka White Mage proved himself a fountain of healing power. Striking Bull found himself taking confidence from the Trio, and strength from just the presence of Red Mountain. A glimpse of him lifted his heart, knowing that he was there in the background easing the trauma and keeping everyone going. He wanted to say more and talk to the strangers, but in accordance with the official orders, both sides kept to themselves, exchanging no more than greetings and thanks. And he could not disagree with those orders, for as suspected they were from another time. He knew for certain now. Carelessly left in, the printer's page in the book of Dolakk's poetry gave a publishing date almost twenty years into the future. Shocking at first, it had later given him hope. The Galka race and something of their culture would survive this war.

The days became weeks, and a month passed, Striking Bull found himself longing for more contact with Red Mountain. The glances across the battlefield had grown longer, and the mage seemed to stand closer to him with each fight. Questions rose. There was so much he wanted to ask, but not about the future or the world ahead, but about Red Mountain himself. He longed for more than presence, but closeness and contact.

And sometimes he found the Galka Visitor in his dreams, where he took the mage into his arms and held him safe from all foes. There were caresses and sighs, and there came such a sweetness to the forbidden friendship. When he could, he allowed his thoughts to linger in these dreams, savoring the imaginary companionship. In these dreams they explored each other's worlds, escapist fantasies that ranged across the land. Red Mountain took him to the future and showed him what was to come, the wonders that lay ahead long after the Shadowlord had been vanquished. And Striking Bull showed him what the past had been, the lands his people no longer knew, the things that would disappear in the ravages of war. But always they were together, friends inseparable.

After a couple of months Striking Bull could bear the dictated separation no longer, and so began to plan a clandestine meeting. Surely the mage would come, for he saw the same longing in Red Mountain's eyes in the battles they shared. Perhaps the Visitor was dreaming the same dreams.

He plotted long hours, wondering what would be best. They could not meet within Bastok, but outside would be fine. People rarely left the city for fear of attack by marauding Beastmen. And eventually he decided upon a secluded low bank of the Obere Creek, easily found but far from the road and hidden from passers by. He could leave the city anonymously in mining clothes for a few foolhardy persons still braved the dangers to mine ores in North Gustaberg. There, beside the creek, they could meet and talk privately. When he felt sure of his plan, he penned a simple letter, folded it into a small size, and slipped it into the orders pocket in his breastplate to await the right opportunity.

Near the end of the next battle the two saw each other at, as the Second Grenadiers were mopping up the last of the Beastmen, Striking Bull quietly passed the letter to Red Mountain with a whisper for silence. Later, when alone, Red Mountain unfolded it and read the unsigned missive.

"The time for shyness is past. Meet me tonight in the darkness. I'll wait for you next to the Obere Creek where it emerges from under Vomp Hill."

Red Mountain anxiously followed the instructions, and found Striking Bull where the note had said. Instead of his blue enameled armor , Striking Bull wore a simple tunic of light brown homespun, the front open to the waist. Beside him was a workman's apron and a supply of pickaxes. Had Red Mountain not been expecting to find him there, he would have easily mistaken him for a prospector taking a break from his work.

As Red Mountain sat down beside him, he could see a thin chain of silver around his thick neck and smell the lingering freshness of a recent bath. Striking Bull smiled over at him and clasped his hand in greeting. "I've been praying to Altana that you would come tonight," Striking Bull said. He pulled Red Mountain's hand and held it against his chest. "I know we're not supposed to be doing this, but I can't help myself."

"You would defy orders to meet with me?"

"I would defy the president himself tonight."

Red Mountain chuckled. "You don't have to do these things to impress me."

"Would you be offended if I kept trying?"

The two laughed together, and then impulsively Red Mountain brought the other man's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. "You've always been my hero. You impressed me long before I even knew your name."

"I'm honored to have been such a part of your life."

"You'll never know how much."

"You're a Visitor. It's best not to ask."

Red Mountain kissed his hand again, at which Striking Bull pulled him closer in a heavy embrace. "You share the feelings I have for you," he said softly. "Altana has answered both of my prayers."

Dawn came all too quickly, and Striking Bull hurried back to the barracks before the light grew, but not before Red Mountain made him promise to meet him at the same place again in a week's time. He spent the next eight days sighing and hoping and wondering if he would see Red Mountain in battle before that night. And his heart fretted when the days came and went without a glimpse, not even of the two women the mage fought alongside.

But on the designated night, Striking Bull found his anticipated one waiting for him beside the creek. Red Mountain took off the plain grey cloak he wore to reveal an elaborate coat of white velvet and black and gold embroidery, bordered with bands of black satin. Striking Bull was much impressed by the coat and told him so. "I envy you Visitors and all the beautiful things you wear."

"I have something beautiful for you to wear."

Striking Bull looked at the coat again and huffed as he set down his pickaxes. "You know I can't. They've forbidden it."

Red Mountain smiled, the moonlight catching his eyes. "They won't see this." From his pocket he drew a tiny bundle of blue-dyed Crawler silk tied with a silver ribbon. "If you'll wear this..." he said embarrassedly.

Striking Bull took off the heavy workman's gloves he had arrived in and took the package.

Red Mountain held his breath as the other Galka unwrapped it.

The silk parted to reveal a ring of Altepan gold set with four equally cut stones—a ruby, a sapphire, a topaz, and an emerald—the four revered stones of their ancient kingdom. The Humes called them "best friends" rings, but to a Galka they meant so much more. This ring represented the close bond between the two who shared the exchange. "Companion rings" were what the Galkas called them, and any jeweler worth his salt kept a small stock of them alongside the wedding bands.

Striking Bull held it for a while, simply gazing at it between his fingers. "I've never had one," he whispered, his throat tight and feeling completely overwhelmed by the gift. The faceted gold glittered even in the moonlight.

"Will you have this one? I know though that I shouldn't be giving it to you, so I will forgive you if you say no."

Striking Bull slipped it onto his finger. The embracing was followed by kissing and joyful laughter, followed by the meal Red Mountain had brought with him in the ever familiar hamper. And then they drank up the bottles of wine and fell asleep in each others' arms, knowing the comfort of having someone so close to one's heart.

When Red Mountain told his two dearest friends, the reaction was not favorable.

"You're an idiot!" Evoille spat. "You know what will happen if someone finds out." Her arms folded over her chest.

Red Mountain sighed. "Yes. They make sure we know even before we enter the cities."

"And you still went ahead with it! Idiot!"

"Don't be so hard on him, Evoille," sighed the Mithra Bard as she strummed gently on her harp. "You can't always help who you fall in love with."

"Yes you can!" the Dark Knight hissed back.

"I'm not in love. It's just closeness," Red Mountain defended, but Evoille wasn't listening, and neither was Paktih.

"You're just uncomfortable with it being another Galka. You'd say nothing if it were some Hume woman," accused Paktih.

"I'm uncomfortable with it being someone in the past, and not just any someone, but an officer." She brushed back her wavy blonde hair and leaned into the Galka's face. "Red, you've made some foolish decisions before but this tops them all."

Red Mountain hung his head shamefully. "No one knows but you two. I thought I could trust you with this." He twisted the companion's ring Striking Bull had given him around and around on his finger, a steel band inscribed with a Bastokan crest and four enameled cabochons. Striking Bull had apologized for the poor nature of the ring, its value but a fraction of the gold ring Red Mountain had bestowed. 'It's all I can get, and all I can afford,' he had excused himself.

"And what happens when someone eventually finds out? You know that at some point someone will. I'll tell you what happens, because I saw it happen in San d'Oria. He gets stripped of his rank and any honors and given the choice of either banishment or hard labor. Do you want that to happen to him? And you? You get sealed off from the past, never to return."

"We've been careful to keep it hidden."

"Couldn't you just bring him here, to the present?" Paktih wondered.

"People from the past cannot move through the maws. It's been tried. We tried. Besides, they need good soldiers in the past desperately. I couldn't take him away."

But despite the warnings and fears and hesitations, Red Mountain and Striking Bull continued to meet. And the months that followed were bliss for the pair. Striking Bull joined his beloved whenever he could. In time the Second Grenadiers came to realize the Galka Visitor had become their captain's companion. For he was always there when they battled in Rolanberry, healing Striking Bull as much as he healed the Mithra Bard and the Elvaan Dark Knight that accompanied him fairly often. And when the two women were not present, the White Mage became their captain's personal Woundpatcher, hanging as far back as possible so as not to appear suspicious, but everyone knew. The soldiers kept quiet though, not just out of respect for their leader, but also in knowing that the frequent gifts of food would stop should the relationship end.

Dangruf Wadi became the haunt of Striking Bull and Red Mountain, where they could meet alone in secret. The Moogles became party to their forbidden relationship and were sent with secretive messages between the barracks and the Mog Houses in Bastok. "Fine weather" was the code for a Dangruf rendezvous. Striking Bull would return to the barracks and ask the Moogle for a weather report. Whenever "fine weather" was mentioned, he could expect to find Red Mountain waiting in the wadi for him. A report of rain or sunshine or wind meant nothing.

In Dangruf Wadi Red Mountain inhabited a small camp hidden within a cave. He kept food and a cask of wine and a bed veiled with insect netting—a pleasant retreat where they could be alone. Red Mountain spent his waiting time writing poetry in imitation of Dolakk, as well as working on his smithing skills. The worms in the wadi proved an adequate source of ore for him, and Striking Bull often took ingots back to Bastok for sale to the armorers.

And whenever Striking Bull came to the wadi, they spent their precious hours together playing in the canyons, swimming in the mineral waters, and gazing at the stars. At night they slept in each others' arms, adrift in the intoxication of wine and love, trying hard to escape the war outside their little world.

And Red Mountain remembered his vow to the strange Cait Sith, to help her ease the pain of this time of war, and it was with much relish that he did so.

Next Chapter : The Aftermath of Battle

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	2. The Aftermath of Battle

A Vow to Cait Sith

Chapter Two – The Aftermath of Battle

The alarms went off all over the city, the bells clanging with a mad panic to their ring. But for most of those in the Mines District it was too late. The Quadav marched in through tunnels dug from the Palborough Mines, while the Antica army and a unit of Gigas poured in from the Zeruhn Mines, slaughtering all in their path—soldiers, civilians, men, women, children, and even livestock. The Shadowlord's command had been to exterminate every child of Altana.

The units of musketeers on guard and those early to respond were overwhelmed and annihilated before reinforcements could arrive. When the bulk of the Bastokan army appeared, the Beastmen were going through the district, burning down the houses and searching for any who had escaped the first onslaught. Immediately the Beastmen turned upon the army and the battle began in earnest.

The Second Division Heavy Infantry was part of a force sent into the district in tight formation down Ore Street, hoping to rescue any civilians or soldiers trapped or hiding there. And when those survivors that remained saw the approaching rescuers, they ran for the safety of the ranks, darting through the Quadav soldiers that were tearing the houses apart looking for them.

Halfway down the street, a Galka child bolted from his hiding place beneath a fallen wall in an attempt to escape. But as he ran, a Quadav lashed out with is sword, catching the child across the face. The boy was knocked down and he rolled across the cobblestones. When he attempted to rise, the same Quadav, realizing that he had not killed the child, advanced with raised sword.

Horrified, several of the grenadiers broke rank and charged, throwing themselves onto the turtleman. Striking Bull, just behind them, seized the boy, the terrified waif still trying to get up, and carried him back behind the lines to where he could be passed to safety.

The battle raged for several days. The people of Bastok fought valiantly, but the front line of battle slipped deeper into city, across the Galkan Bridge and nearly to the entrance of Bastok Metalworks. Reinforcements arrived and there the Humes and Galka could finally hold their ground. The tide of battle finally began to shift in favor of the forces of Altana.

As the battle continued in the open, demolition workers slipped covertly through the supply passages from the Metalworks to the Zeruhn Mines and sealed off the Korroloka Tunnel and the Quadav tunnels from Palborough, blocking the flow of enemies into the city. The opposing army was forced to withdraw and attack from the heavily fortified Konschtat Highlands.

Long before, when San d'Oria tried to conquer Bastok, the Republican forces used their firearm technology to defeat their invaders in the wide-open spaces of the Highlands. The plan worked once again and the Shadow Lord's army retreated. The battered Republic was safe, but by no means was the battle's outcome considered a victory. Countless Humes and Galkas had died, and the Shadow Lord's forces were far from defeated.

After the battle, a large temporary infirmary was set up in the Metalworks to help the countless wounded. Anyone with healing or doctoring skills was drafted to staff it. Striking Bull made frequent visits to his wounded men there, and also to catch glimpses of Red Mountain as he went about tending to the casualties of Bastok. And on one visit, but two days after the battle's end, he spotted the kid he had spirited away from the front. The child sat huddled on a cot, quietly watching the activity around him, his knees drawn up to his chest, a bandage covering most of his face.

"Hey, good to see you." Striking Bull greeted him and sat down on the cot next to him He took the child's hand. "We all thought you were a goner there, and I wasn't sure if you'd survive that cut. You were bleeding pretty badly."

"You're the one who rescued me, right?" said the boy shyly, peering at the soldier with his uncovered eye.

"I don't know if I could call it a rescue, but yes, I'm the one that got you out of there. How's your head?"

"It hurts."

The child noticed the bandage on Striking Bull's arm. "You got hurt too?"

"Yeah. An Antican bit me. Poisoned me pretty good. Want to see?"

The kid shuffled closer.

Striking Bull pulled back the bandage on his arm to reveal the torn flesh, now mostly healed. Red Mountain had managed to find a moment to put him back together.

"Oh! That must have been awful."

"Probably no worse than what happened to you."

The child looked around to see where the nurses were at, and finding the coast clear, pulled off the dressings on his head to show Striking Bull.

Striking Bull stared open mouthed, and wondered why he had not realized it before.

The line of the cut ran up the boy's cheek and across his forehead, matching the faint scar on Red Mountain's face. And for the first time he saw his companion's younger self—the deep brown eyes flecked with gold, the innocent shape of his eyebrows, the curve of his cheekbones and that tiny crease in the tip of his nose.

"What do they call you, kid?" he asked.

"Tullark. That was the name of who I was before."

"I see."

"I wish I had a Hume-given name though. Do you?"

Striking Bull nodded. "They call me Striking Bull, but actually it was my fellow soldiers that started calling me that."

"That's a great name. Is it because you hit hard?"

"I like to think that."

"Someday I'll have a cool name too."

"I know you will."

He helped Tullark get his bandages back on and he left with a strange feeling in his chest. Here was his beloved as a child, the wounded boy who would grow up and return to become his secret companion. What should he do? How should he talk to the child should he see him again?

The next day a great funeral ceremony was held for the masses of Galka dead who were left without other arrangements. Their bodies had been carted to the top of a cliff outside the city and laid out in neat rows, wrapped only in their shrouds. The air was thick with incense and muffled mourning for the dead. Vultures circled overhead waiting for the living to depart.

Most of Bastok's Galka population was there, dressed in battered armor or cloaks of mourning. Many others had come too. Red Mountain stood with Paktih and Evoille amongst a group of other Visitors, Paktih soaking Red's tunic with tears. Evoille, usually eager for a taste of death and destruction, stood rigid and silent in shock at the losses. Thousands of decaying corpses covered the clifftop.

The Second Division Heavy Infantry marched past, led by Striking Bull to a point in the distance where their fallen had been placed. One of their members carried a basket of white lilies tied with purple and gold ribbon, the colors of the unit.

Red Mountain felt Paktih's slender hand slide into his and squeeze it tightly.

Other units went past, as well as delegations from the city. President Prien was conspicuously absent, though most members of his cabinet were there.

At noon the body of Galkan Elders arrived. Each wore a veil of black from head to toe, only their hands visible. An elder's ceremonial headdress of black Roc feathers crowned each one.

The day had begun brightly, but now a layer of cloud rolled in from the Bastore Sea, casting an appropriate grey pall across the surreal scene. The corpses were placed there, their Journey of Rebirth having been denied by a sudden death, the clifftop becoming the surrogate for the mountain to which they supposedly went. Altana would find them there, their souls still clinging to their bodies, and reincarnate them at her will. After today's ceremonies, the clifftop would be closed off for a year, the ground deemed sacred with the departure of the last of the Elders.

With slow motions and somber manner the Elders made their way through the ranks of the dead. A lily, either real or made of paper, was laid atop each corpse. An Elder then followed with a blessing and a benediction in the ancient Galkan language, words Red Mountain recognized but could not understand.

He watched silently as the living of his people said goodbye to their dead. Some sobbed loudly and tore at their clothing. Others were as Evoille, silent and shuddering. He spotted himself, the shy, bandage-capped child. He had met him at the Metalworks infirmary and had even dressed the wounds on his head and later brought the boy a clean tunic to wear. Now Tullark knelt weeping beside the body of his mentor, the older Galka who had taken him in when he had been reborn. An Antican had put a sword through the belly of dear old Barotog, and then nearly taken his head off with the same. Red Mountain still remembered the funeral day, and had been dreading reliving the pain and sadness. Was this what Cait Sith had warned about? Is this what the strange being wanted to thwart? His eyes were nearly blind with tears at watching his younger self mourn for the man who had been a father to him.

And then came something he did not remember. As the Second Division Infantry marched back, the ceremonies for their dead completed, Tullark suddenly sprung up and rushed to Striking Bull's side. Unhesitatingly the grenadier captain picked up the boy and carried him down the mountain.

Next Chapter : Death and Rebirth

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	3. Death and Rebirth

A Vow to Cait Sith

Chapter Three – Death and Rebirth

It was a month before Striking Bull and Red Mountain could meet again in their secret haven. Both men had been completely occupied by the efforts to straighten up what was left of Bastok and to renew the troops and defenses. And when they finally did get a chance to meet in their cave in Dangruf Wadi, they simply sat together, holding each other for a long time, sobbing over fallen comrades. But with the sorrow came tears of joy, the joy of not having lost each other.

"Will Bastok be attacked again?" Striking Bull asked, and immediately felt guilty for asking.

"There will be raids, but no huge battles."

"I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you. I don't know if I could take all this blood and carnage without you behind me," Striking Bull sighed.

"You were without me before, and you're strong. You'd do fine," Red Mountain encouraged.

"But how much better I do knowing you're lurking there ready to keep me on me feet." Striking Bull lay back across the thin mattress of the bed. I could fight the Shadowlord himself with you at my side."

Red Mountain's lips curled into a secretive smile.

The Firesday moon rose full and pink over the wadi, bathing the canyons in a rosy light.

"Let's go for a swim, shall we? I've missed the waters here."

"All right."

And so they swam in the steaming waters until their pale skins were soft and their cares had washed away. And then they lay in the shallows of their favorite pool looking up at the sky. The great comet glittered in the north. The night felt so peaceful and innocent, and for once the scent of blood and smoke seemed so far behind them. Their fingers entwined in an unbreakable grasp.

Red Mountain mused. "In my day this Wadi is teeming with Goblins. I used to come here when I was a new adventurer and hunt them for gil and the things I could find on them. It seems so strangely empty now. Just us and the Rarabs and those pesky worms."

"Red...about Tullark..."

"Yes?"

"So what do I do now? What do I say to him?"

"Do nothing. Just smile and wave when you see him."

"I feel like I should be doing something for him. What happens to him? His mentor is dead."

Red Mountain sighed deeply. "He'll be fine." He rolled over onto his stomach in the water. "A couple of Field Musicians take him in to look after their place and cook for them. And when the war is over he takes a job at the quarries as an errand boy, then as a clerk, and finally as a stonecutter. After a decade of that be becomes an adventurer."

"Is that what you want for him? We can change it, you know."

Red Mountain drew furrows in the sand he lay upon. "I've actually thought a lot about it, and I just decided to leave well enough alone."

"What should I say if we meet?"

"Just be friendly and encouraging. You're my hero, after all."

"I still feel like I should be doing more."

"You're doing it right now," Red Mountain smiled and rolled up against Striking Bull. He kissed the healed arm and then his cheek.

As Striking Bull drifted off to sleep that night, Red Mountain lay listening to his companion's heartbeat and thinking of all the battles he had fought, and of how happily he would have fought them alongside the warrior.

But as feared, the joy the two Galka knew was not to last. Three months after the Battle of Bastok, jealousy and selfish plans proved the end of the affair. A young soldier with high ambitions saw a faster route to promotion through Striking Bull's fall, and set in motion the undoing of his captain. Just as Evoille had warned, Striking Bull was court-martialed, found guilty, stripped of his honors, and sent into a lowly service position in a unit of Musketeers. Most painful and humiliating was the hard slap across the face from Zazarg, right in front of both his unit and Red Mountain.

Red Mountain got off no more easily and was marched off to the maw, sealed with a magical banishment, and thrown back into the future.

Cait Sith stood there, the cat-like creature having rushed to meet him, sensing that something was amiss. "You're back!" she squeaked. "And they've closed the gate to you." She stretched out her paw and touched his forearm, where splashed across each were glowing texts, invisible elsewhere, but glowing with angry red light in the limbo the fairy cat inhabited. She looked into his eyes and ran her paw across his forehead. A soft toe traced out uneven lines. "Powerful magic..." she whispered, and then she licked her paw and rubbed at the spell inscribed upon him. Frustatedly, she scrunched up her face, spat on her paw, and rubbed with more force.

Red Mountain just sat, enduring the fairy cat's ministrations, gathering his own thoughts.

Cait Sith growled. "I can't remove it," she huffed and pushed against his forehead angrily. "Why must they be so stubborn? You were doing such good. Such good you were doing."

And then a portal opened up once more and dragged the Galka on to his fate, dumping him coldly in his own time in the wasteland of North Gustaberg.

His shameful journey through the maw completed, Red Mountain's fears and frustrations turned to anger, and he bellowed in rage at the injustice that had been done to his companion and himself. He threw himself to the ground, his passions boiling into fury, clawing at the earth and cursing everyone and everything.

Paktih, ever faithful and ever sympathetic, had been waiting for him there, expecting the state he would be in when he came through. She quickly teleported him to the Crag of Altep where his violence could escape in the emptiness of the desert. His wrath found its first target in a hapless Antican, and soon the mage was battling the monsters left and right, leaving a trail of dead and dying Beastmen across the sand. His rage drove him onwards, blind to reason and his sanity gone. The gentle White Mage had succumbed to the primal instincts of his race, overwhelmed by the nature they tried so hard to suppress.

A few days later Paktih went looking for the forlorn creature, eventually finding him in the depths of the Quicksand Caves. He lay exhausted and despondent beside the Fountain of Kings, one limp arm fallen into the water. His eyes stared blankly and uncaringly at the ceiling. The light of the fountain flickered eerily across his face, filthy with the salt of tears and the blood of the Antica he had slain in his rampage. His beloved maul and shield lay discarded at his side.

"Red...I've come to take you home." Paktih said on finding him.

He groaned and closed his eyes. "I don't want to go home. I just want to be reborn." He rolled his huge frame onto his side to face the water. "I want to start all over."

Paktih approached and stood beside him. "It's not time for your Journey," she sighed.

"Who says it's not? What do you know about the Journey of Rebirth anyway?" You're a Mithra."

"Red, please come home. We're all worried about you. Even Evoille. Especially Evoille. She knows she's nothing without you keeping her alive on the field." She sat down in the sand beside him, pushing away the shell of one of his last victims. Normally the insect-men cleared away their dead quickly, but they had left the bodies closest to him, all too terrified to approach the madman beside the lustrous pool.

Paktih took out her harp and strummed it softly.

Red Mountain groaned again. "No...don't play. It makes me think of him."

Ignoring the request, Paktih continued to play the gentle melodies that cast no magic but only charmed the heart. She had played many nights for Red Mountain and Striking Bull as they all huddled quietly around a campfire together, the pair holding hands secretively beneath a cloak or behind his shield.

"Won't you please come back to us?"

He shook his head. "Altana knows my heart. She'll be here for me soon enough, and I'll be free of these memories and sorrows. I can't go now." His eyes were open again and spilling tears.

"She's not coming for you. You're too young. But I've come for you. We're waiting for you in Al Zahbi."

"You don't want me. I'm a pathetic fool. You knew what would happen and tried to caution me, but I was too stupid and selfish to listen."

"You were in love, and love makes fools of us all."

Red Mountain chuckled sardonically. "I always denied that it would happen to me."

Paktih put away her harp and took Red Mountain's hand. "Let me take you back to Al Zahbi. No one wants to talk about it or tease you about it—we all know what you've been through. We just want you back home with us. You're family."

He heaved a sigh of concession. "All right."

A week later, the women approached him where he sat in the Whitegate harbor. "Red! C'mon! We're going on a quest."

"No thanks," the Galka moped.

Unexpectedly, the women took him by the shoulders from behind, causing him to spill his coffee into the water. Twice a day for the past week they had brought him coffee saturated with milk and sugar in an attempt to keep him alive, for he had done nothing but sit in one place staring out over the Cyan Deep. He had at first protested, but then found comfort in the drink, cradling the mugs and sipping slowly for hours. Occasionally a fisherman came and worked beside him, and sometimes they would find another lost or lovelorn soul sitting there with him. And once they found a Tarutaru fallen asleep in his lap.

"We're not going to let your life end over this foolishness," Evoille declared.

"Just let me be."

Evoille held him down as Paktih teleported them away to the Crag of Holla, Red Mountain crying out in protest. The Elvaan woman was more than a match for his strength in his weakened state.

"Damn you two!" he snarled as they materialized on the LaTheine Plateau.

The women just grimaced at him and dragged him toward the Chocobo girl.

Red Mountain followed reluctantly through Jugner Forest and into Battalia Downs, where they suddenly dismounted at a little used entrance to the Eldieme Necropolis. "Where are we going? If this is for some stupid piece of armor I swear I'll gut you here and now." He had been party to much of Evoille's lust for an extensive wardrobe of armor and armaments.

"Nope. This is for you. We're going to dig up that cold, dead heart of yours."

"Ha-ha. Very funny. Again your Elvaan sense of humor charms me," he spat sarcastically.

Paktih lit torches and then descended into the cold dry depths of the necropolis. The ancient catacombs ran for miles beneath the grasslands, the dead of Jeuno slumbering away all around them. Paktih advanced, leading them through the dark tunnels and chambers, until at last they came to a small burial chamber that contained vaults both above the floor and below.

From her pack, the Mithra took out a hand-broom with stiff bristles and began to clear away the dust and loose dirt in one area of the floor, revealing a stone slab covering a grave. Red Mountain fumed. This had to be some armor quest, looting the tomb of a dead and buried warrior Evoille had tracked down. The two women worked to remove the slab. "Red, help us."

Red Mountain begrudgingly left the sarcophagus he had found to slump against and assisted them in opening the vault.

Inside was a large wooden coffin, still sealed and topped with the desiccated remains of a funerary wreath. Evoille reached in and began cutting the rope seals on the lid of the coffin.

Paktih took Red Mountain's hand. "Brace yourself," she whispered.

"For what?" His hand slipped to the handle of his maul.

Evoille pushed the lid up and over, revealing the tightly shrouded corpse of a Galka. A dried lily tied with gold and purple ribbons lay atop his chest.

Red Mountain gasped. "It's him, isn't it? But how? How did you know?"

"We're the ones that buried him," Evoille said flatly.

"What? You? What happened?"

"It wasn't long after the court-martial, and just after we brought you home to Al Zahbi."

Red Mountain flinched as Evoille sliced open the shroud.

But Striking Bull was no corpse, and appeared to be only sleeping. His body had not rotted or wasted away, but had remained untouched by the corruption of death. He wore the simple beige tunic and silver chain of his anonymity hours. His nostrils and ear canals had been plugged with wadding, and his wrists were tied over his breast.

Evoille's knife flashed again and his arms were free. She pulled back more of the shroud and cut the ties at his knees and ankles. And then she pulled the cotton stuffing out of his ears and nose. "Go ahead. Raise him."

Red Mountain leaned down into the grave, placed his hand upon Striking Bull's forehead, and began the familiar incantation. Light rose around him, and then around the body beneath his fingertips. The air crackled with magic. Sparks flickered across the ancient walls. Red Mountain fought to keep his concentration as the body rose under his touch and floated to its feet.

Red Mountain's tear-streaked face showed only joy as Striking Bull opened his eyes for the first time in decades. He threw his arms around Striking Bull and wept and laughed and sometimes both.

As Striking Bull regained himself, shaking off the stupor of years spent in the death-like trance, his puzzled expression became a smile, and then his tears came as well. "I thought I'd never see you again," he choked.

The party of four made their way out of the subterranean necropolis, Evoille walking ahead with her scythe out. The Elvaan Amazon deftly sliced apart any roaming undead with sadistic glee and dispatched anything else that glanced their direction.

The sunlight shone brightly as they emerged from the depths into Batallia Downs, Striking Bull shying away from the light. But Red Mountain grasped his hand tightly and drew him into the warming sun. "Welcome to my world...your future."

"It's his world now. There's no going back."

"This? This is the future?"

"Yes. You've been asleep for twenty years."

He turned and looked at Paktih. "You said that you were just going to put me to sleep for a little while. But how...?"

Evoille snickered, wiping down the blade of her scythe and resheathing it. "I helped a little. Remember that wine we gave you?"

"She's a master alchemist. Not all of her time in Al Zahbi with the Empress' men was spent drinking chai," Paktih volunteered.

"They suddenly appeared in Bastok, a month after the court martial, and told me they had a way that I could see you again," Striking Bull explained to Red Mountain. "And I just trusted them." He looked around, his eyes having adjusted to the light. "But where are we now?"

"Just outside of Jeuno. It was no problem getting your corpse here for a funeral. This seemed to be the best place to put you."

"My corpse?"

"His corpse?"

"We put you to sleep, made it look like a suicide by poison, and just left you there where some unfortunate would find you. No one was going to look that closely, and everyone knew you were miserable. Then we just showed up to claim the body and bury it. What's twenty years to a Galka?"

Red Mountain grabbed the two women in a huge embrace. "You're the best friends I could ever have."

In Jeuno they bought food and sat overlooking the water to eat it. "So what happens to me now?" asked Striking Bull.

"You went on your Journey of Rebirth. Your old self is dead and gone, and you are a new man."

"We picked you out a new name too," said Evoille.

Suspiciously Red Mountain looked over at the two women.

"Iron Lily."

Red Mountain coughed. "Iron Lily? How much were you two drinking back there at his burial?"

"Through the winter the lilies sleep underground, and in the spring they emerge from the earth, beautiful again," Paktih explained.

The men thought for a few moments. "It works."

"It was either that or Sleeping Beauty," Paktih giggled.

"Or Nagging Cough," Evoille laughed.

"Or Receding Hairline."

"Or Fancy Pants." The women were falling over with laughter at their comedic take on Galkan names, crumbs from their sandwiches scattering everywhere.

Later, in the Jeuno Mog Houses, Red Mountain took the newly named Iron Lily to the baths and then back to the room they had been assigned. "I've been asleep for twenty years, but I feel so tired," Iron Lily yawned.

"It may take some time before you feel normal again."

"I don't know if I'll ever feel normal here. Everything is so different."

"You will in time."

Red Mountain helped his companion into a nightshirt and then into bed. "Tomorrow we'll go shopping, and then I'll show you around a bit."

"Shopping? For what?"

"Oh, some new clothes for you. Some armor. A new shield. A new axe."

He raised his head off of the pillow. "But I don't want to be a soldier here. I can't go back to that, at least not yet. Not after what happened."

"Not a soldier, but an adventurer."

"Really? Is that possible? An adventurer like yourself?" His head fell back to the pillow, his eyes gazing up at the plastered ceiling, his head spinning with the sudden possibilities.

"Very possible. And the places we'll go won't always be friendly. There are as many monsters out in the wilds as there were in your day." Red Mountain climbed into bed beside his companion and curled up against him. "There's so much I have to show you."

The Moogle extinguished the lights as Red Mountain stretched his arm over Iron Lily. "I honestly thought I'd never see you again," he sighed.

"Nor I. When they dragged you away and out the gates I thought that was it for sure."

Red Mountain hugged the other Galka. "I just wanted to die after that. Being thrown through the maw back into this world, knowing I would never see you again. And I didn't care if the world died with me."

"You have some wonderful friends. You have them thank for your happiness...for our happiness," Iron Lily whispered and squeezed his hand.

"May we never part again." He kissed Iron Lily's shoulder, and together they drifted off to sleep, bliss theirs once more.

The End

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


	4. Cait Sith Commentary

A Vow to Cait Sith

Commentary

I've done my best to place the Second Grenadiers into the proper context, and my apology if I'm wrong. When ever they are dispatched to their battle zone in Rolanberry Fields (S) they are referred to as the Second Division Heavy Infantry, though the members are all tagged "2nd Legion Grenadier". This I presumed meant that the heavy infantry attached to Ludwig Eichberg's 2nd Legion/Division is composed of a unit of grenadiers under the command of Striking Bull. And if I do have it wrong, military technicalities aren't the focus of the story, so it's easily overlooked.

Also, the Battle of Bastok is the first major battle of the Crystal War, but I've taken the liberty of moving it back a bit in the timeline, allowing the war to really get miserable before the city is besieged.

When this story first began to form, Striking Bull's love interest was to be an Elvaan or Hume woman. But then I thought "Well I did that sort of a relationship in "Madness." At about the same time I found this post in the "FFXIV Roleplayer" forums:

"As far as Galka becoming romantically involved with females of other races, yeah that's canon. Like Verence said, there's the clock tower questline, not to mention the whole Shadowlord storyline. Regarding the issue of physical intimacy, I could definitely see it as limiting the number of people who would be interested in a relationship with a Galka, but at the same time there are plenty of people IRL who enter into relationships in which that particular type of intimacy is impossible. And since technically the races of Vana'diel/Hydaelyn aren't human, they might not have the same biological drive to reproduce as we do, which would make a relationship with an asexual creature a lot easier.

On an unrelated note, what about Galka relationships with other Galka? I don't see why Galka would be limited to only love female members of other species. For obvious reasons it's doubtful such a topic would ever be addressed in the game itself, but it's still something to think about."

(Posted by Laychield on Sun Mar 21, 2010)

So I ran with it, and wrote a piece involving two Galka together, basing it in the Shadowreign to add drama and a point of conflict.

I gave the early version of the first two chapters to a friend to read, one who is not at all familiar with the FFXI world. Her comments were that their alien nature and names seem to outweigh the homosexuality of the relationship, and so their romance isn't nearly as uncomfortable to her. My boyfriend (who is familiar with the world), given the same two chapters responded: "I feel so dirty...ugh...Galka on Galka action...eww...they're kissing." But then he asked when I'd complete the story, eager to find out what happens to them. I told him that the rest of the story would mostly be a lesbian sex scene between Evoille and Paktih. He liked the answer but didn't believe it.

So anyway, love it or hate it, enjoy it or not bother to finish it...

A Scene Not Included in the Final Edit

Striking Bull paused from his work to pull out a towel and wipe the sweat from his brow. They had put him on inventory duty, taking inventory of the company's supplies and restocking as necessary. Much of it seemed tedious and repetitive, with mountains of forms to be filled out. On a broiling late summer day as this was it was sheer misery.

As if the demotion had not been enough, they seemed to think it even more fitting to keep him from the battlefield—him, Striking Bull, the one the Quadav called "the Blue Axe-Death" with a shuddering respect in their croaking voices.

At the edge of the supply yard, he noticed two soldiers leaning against a wall, and when the staff was dismissed later that afternoon they were still there. Passing them, he recognized Paktih's boots under the drab leather gear of the shorter one. The taller one had to be Evoille.

His head fell. "What?" he sighed. "Am I not in enough trouble already?"

"We have a plan. You can be with him again, with all this behind you, if you'll trust us."

"Really?" His eyes lifted. There was both enthusiasm and hesitation in the tone of his voice.

"Where can we talk?"

"Down by the water." His hand gestured faintly toward the harbor.

The two women nodded and leaned back against the wall. "Meet us there at sunset."

FFXI and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of SquareEnix. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.


End file.
